Chapter 1 : A sketch in the wind

Min-Joon had always seen the world differently. While others rushed past cherry trees without a glance, he noticed how the petals drifted like forgotten thoughts. His sketchbook bore witness to all the things no one else seemed to see. And lately, it had been filling up with one particular thing—or rather, one person.

Lee Yujun.

Not that anyone would ever know. Yujun was the type of boy whose name carried weight in the hallways. Quiet, composed, athletic without trying. Girls liked him. Boys admired him. And Min-Joon—well, Min-Joon followed two steps behind, as if the gravity between them could not be escaped.

That spring afternoon, they walked home together again, just like always. Yujun’s shoulder brushed Min-Joon’s occasionally, a silent rhythm neither of them addressed.

"You spaced out again," Yujun said, glancing sideways. His voice was low and careful, like the way he moved through the world.

"Just thinking," Min-Joon replied, eyes on the pavement.

Yujun didn't ask what about.

He never did.

But Min-Joon wondered, if he had, would he have said, you?

Later that evening, Min-Joon returned to that moment in his sketchbook. He drew the way Yujun’s shadow stretched toward his own. He shaded it softly, like a secret not yet spoken. Somewhere between the graphite lines and white space, he caught something that felt almost like longing.

The next morning, as sunlight filtered in through cracked blinds, Min-Joon added final touches to a drawing—Yujun's silhouette at twilight, coat slung carelessly over his shoulder. There was something magnetic about the way Yujun never looked fully at the world, as if saving his attention for something he hadn’t found yet.

They met at the usual corner. Yujun stood waiting, sipping from a carton of banana milk.

"Want one?" he asked, holding out another.

Min-Joon blinked. "You brought two?"

Yujun shrugged, handing it over. "I had a feeling."

They walked in silence, sipping. The warmth of the milk did nothing to steady the fluttering inside Min-Joon’s chest.

Later, as they passed a group of first-years, he overheard the whispered giggles.

“That senior is cute.”

“The quiet one looks soft. Bet he’s single.”

Without a word, Yujun shifted. He slung his arm around Min-Joon’s shoulder with casual confidence.

"He’s taken," Yujun said, smiling slightly.

The girls blinked in surprise. Min-Joon froze.

Taken.

By who?

The arm lingered. Warm. Protective. As if it belonged there.

And Min-Joon couldn’t stop the quiet smile that tugged at the corner of his lips.

School felt both familiar and strange. Min-Joon sat by the window as always, the light catching in his lashes as he doodled abstract shapes in the margins of his notebook.

Yujun was across the room, surrounded by classmates, but his gaze flicked over often. Like a metronome—steady, quiet, constant.

During lunch, someone from another class—Jiho—approached Min-Joon.

"Hey, you draw, right? Want to join the art club after school? We need another member for the festival banner."

Min-Joon hesitated. Jiho was friendly. Too friendly.

Before he could reply, a shadow appeared beside him.

"He’s already helping me with something after school," Yujun said.

Jiho blinked. "Oh. Okay. Maybe next time then."

Min-Joon turned to Yujun once Jiho left. "What exactly am I helping you with?"

Yujun didn’t flinch. "Not being around people who don’t know how to shut up."

Min-Joon rolled his eyes, but his chest warmed.

That afternoon, as rain began to fall, students scattered. Min-Joon stood beneath the awning, empty-handed as usual.

Yujun appeared again, umbrella in hand.

"You always forget."

"And you always remember."

They shared the umbrella. Close. Closer than necessary.

The sound of the rain made the silence between them feel even louder.

As they crossed the last street to Min-Joon’s house, a car swerved a little too quickly through the puddles.

Yujun didn’t hesitate.

He pulled Min-Joon back with a swift tug on his sleeve, pressing him close to his own side.

"Watch it," he muttered, jaw tight.

Min-Joon blinked up at him.

In the dim light of the storm, Yujun’s hand was still on his wrist.

For a moment, Min-Joon remembered a childhood day—a memory dulled by time but not forgotten.

He had scraped his knee chasing a paper airplane. The pain was small, but the tears had come fast. And Yujun, even back then, had knelt beside him, patting the dirt from his legs with awkward hands and a too-serious frown.

"Don’t cry," Yujun had said. "You’re okay. I’m here."

Min-Joon looked at him now and realized—he still was.

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